


On the coast, by the waves

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: California, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 13:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: “It’s California. The sky is blue, the sun is shining and it’s, what, 44 degrees? I didn’t even know it got this cold in California.”A lot of whining, a trip to the beach, northern California, and some very cold Penguins.





	On the coast, by the waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hatoyona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatoyona/gifts).



> This is for hatoyona for her birthday happy birthday bro ilu!!
> 
> This was largely inspired by [“Sweater Weather” by The Neighborhood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cULQhvuq1Zc), partially inspired by AWOLNATION’s [video for an acoustic version of “Handyman”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_fD5gEu-yM). California is the best state in the union, don’t @ me on this.

Intellectually, the team knows that it does, in fact, get cold in California, but, well, as much as it pains Sid to admit, hockey players aren’t exactly know for their intellect.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Tanger, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket, shivering visibly as they walk across the tarmac to the airport in San Jose. “I hate global warming.”

“You should have brought jacket,” says Geno, looking completely comfortable in his suit jacket, because he’s Russian and an asshole. 

“Fuck you, it’s California. The sky is blue, the sun is shining and it’s, what, 44 degrees? I didn’t even know it got this cold in California.”

“Bro, when we left Pittsburgh, it was 32 degrees,” says Jack, but he’s shivering too.

“First of all,” says Sheary. “We were just in Los Angeles, where it was normal for California. Second of all--”

“There is no normal for California. Is big state,” says Geno.

“Fucking global warming.”

“All right, assholes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am _cold_.”

Sid doesn’t jump into the conversation because he’s too busy trying not to shiver. Geno notices though.

“Cold, Sid?” he says quietly, sidling up to Sid in his own graceless way. Geno may move like magic on ice but off it he’s a fucking nightmare of long limbs. Sid thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world but he’d never say it to Geno.

“Yes,” says Sid, looking up at him.

Geno shrugs out of his jacket and places it around Sid’s shoulders.

“Oh, no fucking fair,” whines Tanger. “I was cold first.”

“Sid, you look like you’re wearing an elephant skin.”

“Hey Jack, give me your jacket.”

“No!”

They make it across the tarmac to airport eventually and get hit with hot air in the terminal. Sid sighs almost audibly.

“Thank God, I was worried there wouldn’t be central heating,” says Tanger, because he’s really leaning into the dramatics today.

“Dude,” says Matt. “Where the hell do you think we are?”

“ _California_.”

They collect their luggage and get into the bus waiting to take them to the hotel. No one recognizes them in the arrivals area, which is kind of nice, but it’s also early on a Sunday morning. Sid doesn’t notice he’s still got Geno’s jacket on until he overheats on the bus and has to take it off. Geno smiles at him when Sid leans across the aisle to give it back. Sid smiles too.

Their hotel is one of the nicer ones downtown and Sid is looking forward to a shower and a nap before their optional skate, but unfortunately, his dumbass teammates have a better idea.

“What if we went to the beach?” says Jamie, while they’re standing in the lobby waiting for key cards.

“What the fuck?”

“No, hear me out,” says Jamie, looking bright-eyed and idiotic. “Beaches are by the ocean right? And it’s usually warmer by the beach. Because of the ocean.”

“Oh my god,” groans Tanger.

“It’s science,” says Jamie. “It’s the currents and stuff.”

Sid loves his team, he really does, but they’re the dumbest people he knows.

“Come on, guys! We have an optional skate today. We skip that and go to the beach.”

Jack pulls out his phone and starts typing. “It’s 54 degrees fahrenheit in Santa Cruz.”

“See? It’s warmer by the beach.”

“Yeah, by like ten degrees.”

“Sid? What do you think?”

Geno has his jacket over one arm. “Beach sounds nice, right Sid? Let’s go.”

Sid glares at him. Geno grins back.

“I’m not your father,” says Sid. “You guys can do what you want.” But it’s a losing battle. He knows the weight he pulls on the team, knows that if he decides to go, the rest will follow. If he stays for an optional skate, they’ll stay.

The team looks at him hopefully. Sid thinks that there is probably an alternate universe where his team of grown-ass men are capable of making their own decisions.

“Yeah, sounds nice,” he says. 

Jamie whoops and makes for their wrangler this trip, Kelsey, dragging Jack with him for back up. The rest of the group mills around, slowly spreading the word that “optional skate” has been replaced by “optional beach trip.”

Sully only looks moderately mad when Kelsey tells him she’s chartered a bus to the beach for any of the team who wants to go, which is a relief. “You could have said no,” he says to Sid. 

“Uh,” says Sid. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Behind Sully’s shoulder, Geno smirks.

Sully puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly enough that the entire lobby comes to a standstill, including the receptionists, a family of five, and some well-dressed business women. “Listen up!” he yells. “Optional skate is cancelled today but I want to see every single of your a--” he glances at the family of five and changes track “--your butts on ice at 8AM on tomorrow or you’re all bag skating!”

Kelsey starts handing out key cards. “The bus leaves in an hour,” she says brightly, completely unphased by the theatrics of the team. Sid has always really liked that about her, her cheerful way of being unflappable. He wishes he were like her. He takes his keycard from her with a thanks and heads up to his room. At least he’ll have time for a shower.

He’s towelling off his hair when someone knocks on the door. “Who is it?” he asks, because he’s only wearing an undershirt and jeans and there’s a limited number of people for whom he’ll open the door when he’s not fully dressed.

“Geno.”

He opens the door. Geno stands in the doorway looking pleased with himself. He’s wearing a teal Sharks hoodie.

“Really?” says Sid and lets him in.

Geno has another Sharks hoodie in hand. “It’s disguise,” he says.

“No one is going to recognize us on a beach in California,” Sid protests.

“Did you bring sweater?” Geno asks.

Sid didn’t, actually, because he assumed he would not be going anywhere other than the rink and maybe a restaurant. He brought his own Pens hoodie and that’s it in the way of winter clothing. 

Geno thrusts the hoodie at him. It has Joe Thornton’s number on it.

“Captain for captain,” says Geno. “You can layer.” He pats Sid’s cheek and leaves again.

Sid spends a full fifteen minutes trying to talk himself into wearing it. On one hand, it’s a gift, from Geno, and he appreciates the gesture. On the other hand, it’s literally a Sharks hoodie and he can’t wear a Sharks hoodie before he plays a game against the Sharks or possibly ever. It’s just bad luck. Geno has to know that. Not that Geno would care, exactly, but he has to know that it’s bad luck to wear the number of another player.

Sid is well aware that he is a headcase and also might catch a cold on this day trip. It’s something he just has to come to terms with. He puts on his Pens hoodie and goes downstairs.

Half the team is standing in the lobby. Some of them were smart enough to bring winter coats on the trip, just not smart enough to wear them off the plane. Most of them are wearing team hoodies. Geno stands out in teal, being razzed by Phil and Jack for wearing Sharks shit. His hoodie isn’t specific to a team member. He doesn’t look remotely surprised that Sid isn’t wearing the hoodie he gave Sid, just waves at him with a bright smile. Sid comes over and listens to Jack’s extremely colorful deconstruction of the Sharks’ mascot.

The bus Kelsey chartered is taking them not to Santa Cruz, but Half Moon Bay. Jack googles it and finds out that the local temperature is lower than it is in San Jose, which results in a round of booing, but he also finds out that the local seafood restaurant apparently serves the best clam chowder in the greater Bay Area and everyone seems appeased by that. The drive takes about an hour and a half and it’s pretty, winding through the dry, brown hills, even as the sky gets progressively grayer.

Sid’s glad the social media team didn’t come for this trip because it would pretty hard to make a bunch of hockey players look cool while they jostle each other for a view of the ocean as they come over the top of a hill and down into Half Moon Bay. Not that’s he’s ever been worried about looking particularly cool, but he knows Phil would take it personally if a video of him punching Carl in the head to get a better look at the ocean made it onto an Instagram story.

Sid got a window seat so he doesn’t have to punch anyone in the head but he does have to deal with Geno shoving himself against Sid so he can get a better look out the window, like he isn’t taller than Sid and can see perfectly fine.

“Wow,” says Geno. “So gray.”

“It’s winter,” says Sid.

Geno presses his cheek against Sid’s temple briefly. “Like Russia,” he says. “Ocean is gray in St. Petersburg too.”

Jack, who has at some point in the past three hours become a gigantic nerd, is reading aloud from a NASA webpage to explain why the ocean in Half Moon Bay looks gray. Something to do with phytoplankton. Tanger cuts in with an abbreviated, “it’s reflecting the sky, dumbass.”

Geno sits back in his seat and Sid shifts, trying to get comfortable with the loss of him.

It’s January and apparently beaches in northern California flood during the winter; it takes a couple tries to find a beach that is both open and accessible. A couple miles down the coast their driver pulls into a deserted lot overlooking an open stretch of sand and huge waves.

“One hour!” yells Kelsey as they spill out of the bus. It’s fucking freezing but most of the guys are already racing down the ridge to get to the beach.

Sid sticks his hands in his pockets and picks his way down the ridge, following Geno on the small path down to the beach. He’s been out of the bus less than five minutes and he’s already shivering. When he gets down to the beach, he walks carefully to avoid getting sand in his shoes. Some of the guys have abandoned their shoes already in a pile at the bottom of the path, like they’re children. Tanger, for all his whining about being cold, seems to be actually standing in the shallow water, arms open wide, screaming with some kind of feral joy. Some of the other guys are throwing sand at each other.

Sid stops walking where the sand turns firm from the surf and stares out at the gray ocean. The waves look violent but also kind of beautiful. He’s never been on a beach this far north on the American west coast before, but it kind of reminds him of day trips he used to take with his mom and sister to the coast in the winter when he was a kid. He remembers the waves being pretty violent then, too, but he was pretty young and small for his age.

He turns to say something to Geno about Sully killing him when Tanger gets inevitably pneumonia and finds Geno taking off his hoodie and a black sweater he was wearing underneath.

“What are you doing?” Sid asks because Geno is from Russia but that’s not an excuse for being stupid.

Geno holds out the sweater to Sid. “You’re cold.”

“Put your hoodie back on,” says Sid because Sully will _really_ kill him if Geno gets pneumonia.

Geno sighs and puts his sweater over Sid’s head and pulls it down to his neck. He doesn’t let go until Sid pus it on over his hoodie.

The sweater is fuzzy and surprisingly tasteful, just black with a v-neck. It was tight enough on Geno that he could fit it under a hoodie but Sid’s just comfortable. Geno puts his Sharks hoodie back on.

“Thanks,” says Sid. He feels warmer already. Or at least he's not shivering as much.

Geno pats his shoulder and they watch their dumbass teammates run in and out of the water, screaming like they've never been cold before. It's only a matter of time before someone really goes down in the water and then Sid is going to have to be disappointed in whoever it is and it's just going to be a nightmare for everyone involved.

Geno shoves his shoulder and they start walking down the beach, away from their teammates.

The waves seem more violent the farther out they get, bigger and whiter. The ocean seems closer to the land. Sid doesn't know the science of the Pacific Ocean during the winter. He could ask Jack, he figures.

His teammates are barely visible in the distance when Geno stops, hand on Sid's arm. They've run out of beach -- there is only an outcropping and waves crashing against rocks the size of their bus. Every few minutes, water sprays them. Sid takes a step back. 

“Okay,” says Sid. “If we _both_ get pneumonia, Sully will kill us and Mario will help.”

Geno laughs and wraps an arm around Sid's shoulders, pulling him close. “We won't get sick,” he says confidently.

“You say that now,” says Sid. “Just wait. Our entire roster is going to get sick and the Pens will be a full AHL team and then we'll never make it to the playoffs. They'll probably have to rename a hospital ward after us when we all get respiratory infections and have to sit out the next month.”

“Sid,” says Geno. “You worry so much.”

“Tanger's been getting to me,” Sid admits, because it's true that he's being more dramatic than usual.

Geno places both hands on Sid's shoulders, forcing Sid to turn and look at him. “Stop worry,” he says. “We'll be fine.”

A wave hits the rocks with a particularly loud crash and sprays them both with a fine mist.

“Geno,” says Sid, looking up at him. “What are we doing out here?”

Geno glances up from staring at him and looks behind Sid. Sid can’t even hear the shouting of his teammates. He can only hear waves against wet rocks.

“Don't worry,” Geno says, and leans down, and kisses Sid.

Sid freezes, more out of the low grade anxiety that accompanies everything he does than anything else. He can’t decide if he’s surprised or not. He doesn’t think he is.

“Okay, Sid?” says Geno, leaning back. He looks worried now. And terrible in teal.

“No. Yes. I mean--try again.”

“Try?”

Geno is stepping away, the exact opposite of what Sid wants. What an insane time for him to be thoughtful and considerate, but that’s Geno all over, unpredictable and ridiculous. Sid grabs his arm, determined not to let him get away because Sid ruined what should have been a good start to something important.

“Do it again.”

Geno places one hand on Sid’s cheek and hesitates. Sid outright refuses to be the guy who stands on his toes to kiss someone, Geno or no, so he grabs the back of Geno’s neck and pulls him down.

It’s a chaste kiss, as kisses go, and Sid abruptly wants it to be more, but he’s hyperconscious of his teammates running around farther down the beach. He puts a hand on Geno’s chest.

“Later,” he says. “I want to do this later.”

Geno pouts and it looks stupid on him and Sid is so endeared he can’t stand it. He kisses Geno one more time. “I mean it,” he says. “Later.”

Back on the bus, Tanger is covered by about 10 sweatshirts in lieu of a blanket. He looks like a drowned cat. “Jamie pushed me in,” he whines. 

“Sully gonna yell,” says Geno fondly.

“I’m not covering for you,” says Sid.

“Whatever,” says Tanger, shivering. “It’s not like you look any better. How’d your hair get so wet?”

“We found the end of the beach,” says Sid.

“Beaches don’t end,” says Jack, with the confidence of a man who read a Wikipedia article once in a dream.

The bus driver cranks up the heat on the bus and the team settles down quietly for the trip back up the coast and through the hills. Clam chowder by the coast was a pipe dream. Half of them fall asleep almost immediately. Geno slouches down until he can lean his head on Sid’s shoulder.

“When?” he mumbles.

“When we get back to the hotel,” says Sid.

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

There’s no way it can be comfortable for Geno to be slouched down so far but he seems to fall asleep, breathing evenly against the sweater Sid is still wearing. Sid stares at the window and watches the gray sky recede into pale blue. Geno is a comfortable weight against his side and he’s starting to warm up again.

Kelsey texts the team dinner options when they get back to the hotel -- team dinner, no exceptions. A spirited argument breaks out in text over seafood versus a diet-plan approved steakhouse; Sid ignores the argument in favor of team bonding and goes back to his room. There’s a little sign in the bathroom that reminds him California is suffering from a drought and to please conserve water whenever possible. He ignores that too, and takes his second shower of the day, washing the sea salt from his hair and relaxing in the hot water. The beach made him sleepy.

He’s still shirtless and looking through his suitcase for something that isn’t dressy or sandy or smells like recycled plane air when someone knocks on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Who do you think?” Geno sounds amused.

Sid opens the door to let him in. Geno looks him up and down in frank appreciation. His hair is wet and curling against his temples. He’s wearing a t-shirt with Cookie Monster on it. 

Sid drags him in the room before anyone can see Geno unironically wearing a Cookie Monster shirt while Sid is shirtless and gaping at him. 

Geno sits on the bed while Sid goes back to looking for a shirt. He finally finds two and holds them up for Geno. “Blue or gray?”

“Blue,” says Geno immediately. And then, putting his hands out: “come here.”

Sid pulls on the shirt and takes Geno’s hands. Geno pulls him between his legs and looks up at him. 

Sid is taller than Geno for once and it’s kind of weird. He touches Geno’s temple, rubs away a droplet of water. Geno smiles up at him.

“Hi,” says Sid.

Geno shakes his head so Sid leans down and kisses him. It’s nicer here in a quiet hotel room, calmer. As first kisses go, beaches are more romantic, but Sid prefers it here, where he can kiss and kiss Geno until Geno crawls back on the bed to sit against the headboard, pulling Sid with him.

Sid settles between his thighs. Geno has his hands on Sid’s hips, one thumb rubbing his hip bone under the waistband of his jeans. Geno’s hair is damp still and sticking up where Sid ran his fingers through it. It’s going to dry so badly and look awful. Sid tries to stifle a laugh.

“What?”

Sid runs a hand through Geno’s hair. “Your hair looks terrible,” he says.

“You think yours look better?”

Sid self-consciously touches his hair and then decides not to think about it. Geno grins at him. Sid grimaces and Geno runs a finger across his lips.

Geno kisses him slowly, until Sid is sleepy with it. What a luxury not to rush through things. What a luxury to not even feel the burden of exploration, to just trade soft kisses that Sid knows are still going to show on his lips when they have to go to dinner in two hours. He sighs and Geno swallows it.

Sid rolls off his knees when they start to cramp and he’s never really tried to act smooth in front of Geno but he does bite down on Geno’s lip accidentally, startling a laugh out of him. Geno’s hands tighten on his hips.

“Sorry,” says Sid.

“What do you want, Sid?” Geno asks.

Sid knows it’s juvenile to push his head against Geno’s shoulder and avoid looking at Geno, but he’s torn between answers and he’s afraid the look on Geno’s face might tip the scale one way or another. He closes his eyes and breathes.

“Either a nap or you,” he says.

Geno cards a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls at Sid’s neck. “Easy,” he says. “You have me. Now have nap.”

He shoves Sid around until Sid is flush against his chest, legs curled over his. It’s either going to be really fucking uncomfortable in five minutes or the best nap of Sid’s life. Geno shifts to pull his phone out of his back pocket and unlocks it while Sid settles against his shoulder.

“Seafood or steak, Sid?” says Geno. “Team wants your decision.”

“You decide,” says Sid. “I forfeit my vote to the alternates.” His phone is on the dresser anyway and he’s not going to get up.

Geno taps a reply on his phone with one hand, the other hand dragging down Sid’s back to his hip, fingers curling possessively against him. Sid closes his eyes and listens to Geno breathe, the small huffs of amused breath against his temple as Geno reads whatever responses he gets to his texts.

There’s some anxiety unfurling in Sid’s chest that will likely be a problem in an hour but for now it’s easy enough to ignore. He’s too sleepy. Geno’s fingers curl and uncurl against his hip as he types with his free hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth against Sid’s skin under his shirt.

Sid is comfortable. He’s warm. California is cold in January but he’ll be fine. Geno presses his mouth against Sid’s head, more of a smile than a kiss.

Sid falls asleep thinking about gray waves and dry hills.

**Author's Note:**

> “I really thought this was going to end in porn” me too lmao


End file.
